


In a Heart Beat

by Dekka



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU, Horses, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: Modern AU where Auston Matthews grew up riding horses rather than playing hockey, and Mitch found his home living as a stable hand, catering to the rich and famous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 100% made up, just a fun story friends

Mitch loves his job. Even under oath, there’s not much he would complain about. Between the free meals and the free room waiting for him at the end of the day, he thinks he’s found his home. Most people aren’t always so lucky. 

It’s hard work being a stable hand, but it’s his calling. He loves getting up at five and watching the sun rise as he starts his chores. There’s something about the dead of morning, just before everything comes to life, that makes him feel centered. 

At that time it’s just him and the animals, the clock irrelevant until the first cars start pulling into the lot next to the barn. 

Matthews’ manager Christopher is always the first on the scene, phone to his ear as if people on this side of the earth are even awake enough to be getting yelled at. 

“Morning,” Mitch greets him, having just came in from feeding the foals. 

The man doesnt look up. He waves a hand off in Mitch’s direction instead. There’s something so _city_ about him. It makes Mitch wonder how he even got involved in the show jumping world. 

“Get Nala,” Chris yells. He’s already disappeared through the barn doors, not even a courtesy look back to see if Mitch heard him. 

With a sigh, Mitch does as he’s told, and maybe that would be the part of his job that he’d admit to hating.

-

Nala is gorgeous. She’s a mare with a particularly bad attitude and even so Mitch confesses to favoring her over the other horses. 

She’s sleek and black, a white line running from her ears to her muzzle. It probably cost at least one hundred thousand to get her, but even still she’ll take years to be ready to show. Not like Auston’s camp will notice a dent in their budget, but it still takes Mitch’s breath away when he thinks about it too hard. 

“He okay?” 

Auston’s manager is a dick. He hangs over the stall door like he owns the place, his cell phone held against his chest like even the second he’s sparing on Mitch and the hundred thousand dollar horse is too much time. 

“ _She’s_ good,” Mitch corrects, and strips off her blanket. 

He’s lucky enough that Christopher leaves him be after that. 

“You’re good,” he reiterates to the horse, when she looks at him with wide, trusting eyes. He hates to see her owned by such assholes. 

Like everything around here, Auston’s tack is expensive and slick, worth thousands. With that kind of money at his fingertips, Mitch tacks Nala up in a practiced, careful way. He couldn’t afford to replace even the reins if he nicked them. 

“Morning Mitchy.” 

Mo’s head is handing through the stall door, a smile on his face despite the harsh tones still filtering through the aisle coming from Auston’s agent. 

“Need something Cap?” 

The nickname gets an eye roll, but Morgan’s fond enough of him to let it slide. “Barn manager doesnt make me Captain, Mitchy.” 

It’s a debate for another time, and either way, everyone calls him it anyway. Mitch shrugs. They’ve got bigger problems. The girth he’s belting in is a little tight today. “She’s put on some weight.”

Mo’s smile is quick to drop. He enters the stall with relaxed ease, running a hand down the horse's mane to calm her as she startles at the sound of the metal door clanging behind him. 

“Dont let that dick down there hear you say that,” Mo whispers over her back. He lowers the girth on one side. “Try again now.” 

This time, Mitch can latch it. 

“I’ll tighten it for Auston in the ring,” Mitch promises. “I’ll make sure he,” he nods his head off towards where the yelling has escalated, “doesnt see.” 

“Good,” Morgan nods. “And don’t forget to see John about morning chores. I’m letting him work out a new scheduling system.” 

Mitch barely represses his huff of exhaustion. It’s too early to deal with their ‘innovation.’ He’d rather take care of his aisle and be done, then have a shift partner and deal with Hyman and the way he methodically cleans stalls. 

From there, the day gets unusually worse. Auston shows up late to ride, Babcock throws a fit, and Nala bucks until Auston’s agent goes running into the ring, startling her further. 

“Get him off of her,” Christopher yells at Babcock, waving his hands as if anyone on this side of the property could possibly miss his words. 

Curiously, Mitch stops cleaning a stall to peak his head into the indoor arena. The bucking is nothing Auston can’t handle. You don’t become a world renowned champion without learning how to handle a green horse. Auston’s agent really is a piece of work. 

“Do you want him hurt?” The man continues to go after an uncaring Babcock. “An injury from him would put us back thousands. This place would never survive.” 

Mitch tries to hold back a grin. They’re home to the best riders in the country. Nothing but a stable-wide quarantine would put them out of business. 

Around this community, the infamous Christopher vs. Babcock screaming matches are a sight to behold. Both give as good as they get. 

This time though, Babcock is so obviously done that Mitch wonders if he’ll have to physically pull the two apart. Babs doesnt even flinch as Chris gets in his face. Instead, he turns away from the other fuming man like he’s nothing more than a fly on his sleeve. “Your call, Auston,” he says calmly to the rider. 

Mike keeps yelling, but Mitch’s eyes have already fallen to Nala and her owner. 

Auston Matthews is a lot to take in. His hair falls haphazardly, peaking out from just one side of his helmet, his thick thighs showcase his strength, and his calm demeanor tells nothing of the wild animal under him. 

He’s not even breaking a sweat, taking each buck and twist and spook in stride. 

Mitch is used to being thrown on these types of horses, ready to school them when the owners can’t. When you’re as rich as their clientele is, you pay someone else to deal with tantrums to put down the risk of injuring yourself or your horse. 

“I’ve got it,” Auston promises, surprising Mitch. There’s a determined, amused glint in his eyes, like he’s impressed she hasn’t got him off yet. He gives Nala some rein, lets her perk her ears up at the corner of the arena, and waits until she gives him a second of relaxed inquisition before the muscle in his thigh jumps. 

She picks up a canter with perfect ease, even if it is more of a dash than his usual comfortable strides. 

“Breathe,” Babcock reminds him. 

In fascination, Mitch watches as a visible wave travels from Auston’s shoulders to toes. He’s fun to watch, his strength and his demeanor intoxicating. It feels like everything slows in that moment, the horse following how her rider changes stance without question. They work well together, maybe both too wild for their own good. 

“Give me a little half halt,” Babcock decides, “you’re still a little too fast.” 

His control is unparalleled. It feels like the horse and Auston breathe as one, long strides eating up the arena. 

“Take the uphill line of jumps.” 

Auston’s head turns, eyes hyper focused on his course. He takes the first jump with little fanfare, gets a perfect six strides in before the next, bigger jump. 

It’s a mess, and Nala startles enough to buck after she lands, but Auston pulls her in, circling to take the line again. 

“Count out loud,” Babcock says. “Sooth her.” 

Auston shows no sign of annoyance at such a rudimentary suggestion. He counts each stride with a firm, deep voice. 

“One-two-three-four-five-push,” his first jump is perfect. “Land-one-two-three-four-fi-”

Nala takes the long spot, stretching over the jump in a way that seems to surprise even Auston. It looks awkward and is in no doubt as dangerous as it bad, but Auston’s laughing when he lands, patting her side as they slow down to a trot, congratulating her despite her clear disobedience. 

“I flew,” he yells out to Babs, a smile still wide on his face. 

Chris ducks out of the arena. “Stupid horse,” he hisses. “Good bloodline my ass. She’s a danger.” Mitch can only raise an eyebrow. It’s his job to stay silent. 

They both stay to watch as Auston takes his course again. This time he lands the jump perfectly. 

“Nice,” Mitch whispers when Auston gets a flying lead change without having to ask as they change directions to catch a diagonal jump. 

Christopher glances over at him. “Don’t you have shit to do?” 

He does. 

-

Mitch doesnt expect to find Auston in the stall with his horse after the lesson. It’s just not something that happens when there are stable hands on every inch of the land, but Auston has proven time after time to be a pleasant surprise. 

“You did great on her,” Mitch comments, and leans against the far side of her stall. He feels bad when she leaves Auston to dig her head into his chest and huff out a wet breath of air. 

“She’s got personality doesnt she?” Auston says it like he’s fond of her outbursts. It makes Mitch duck his head to hide a smile. 

He misses this; the people who love their animals like they’re each as unique and thoughtful as they actually are. 

Auston doesnt even try to pull her back to him. He just pets at her side as she rubs her head against Mitch’s chest. 

“Are you schooling anyone tonight?” 

The question shocks Mitch enough that he finds his eyes locked on Auston’s, his mouth uselessly stuttering out incomprehensible babble in response. 

Blushing, Auston is quick to clarify. “I just- I saw you riding the other day. You’re really good. John told me about you, said you’re the go to when a horse is acting up.” 

Coming from Auston, that’s a big compliment. The man has world titles under his belt, a million dollar apartment to match, and a track record that proves he’s not done winning yet. 

“Tavares is overselling me.” Mitch tries not to focus on how hot his face feels or the way his hand shakes as he buries it in Nala’s mane. 

“Why don’t you ride professionally?” 

Auston is as dumb as he is pretty, his eyes as wide and as inquisitive as Nala’s. 

Mitch’s smile turns sad. “We can’t all be Auston Matthews.” 

He gives Nala one last pat before he goes. “I’ll see you around, Auston.”


	2. Chapter 2

Their workload increases as the olympics creep closer. Mitch looses sleep and grows calluses and tries to remember that summer is just around the corner. These days, the whole stable seems to be in a constant buzz of movement and rumors. Talk this year says Auston, leading team U.S.A., will be battling it out for first against Sweden. It would be an enjoyable debate if William didn’t train here over the winter with Babcock. 

Everyone seems to be picking sides, either keeping their distance from Auston or showering him with praise and unhelpful but well-meaning tips during his training sessions. There’s no calm in-between with the money and title on the line. 

Mitch tries to stay impartial. 

“Did you get Willy’s latest snap?” Zach is helping him load a trailer with hay to bring out to the pasture. He’s doing less lifting and more talking than Mitch would prefer. 

“You have Willy’s snap?” He doesnt care if Zach does, even if it is generally against the rules.

The heat today is reaching unbearable levels. Exhausted, Mitch throws in his last hay bale and stops to wipe his forehead. His pause gives him a convenient view of Zach’s blush. 

“I’m surprised you don’t,” Zach says, “William loves you.” If Mitch didn’t know better, he’d say there was jealously in Zach’s tone. 

He clears the air with an all too teasing jab, “We all know who he’s got eyes on.” 

It feels like every winter William and Zach get closer and closer to crossing the line into a real relationship.

“Anyway,” Zach interrupts pointedly, “he’s coming home for a couple months. Said he decided it’d be best.” 

Normally, Mitch would think it’s all just talk, but Zach isn't one for gossip. It might be good to have the swede around, especially during this time of year.

“Finished boys?” Patty enters the hay shed like he’s got somewhere to be, a pep in his step despite the unbearable temperatures. 

“In a rush?” Mitch has never seen the man be anything but relaxed and slow, even to a fault. 

Patty shrugs, but a bitten off smile gives him away. “I’m heading home early today. It’s Brody’s birthday.” 

Just for him they finish double time, their backs breaking out in sweat against the heat that’s impossible to fight. 

Mitch doesnt mean to ditch out on chores, but he cant stand the way he feels bogged down by the humidity. He’ll hate himself later for skipping lunch so that he can shower, but it feels worth it in the moment to strip out of his soaking clothes and stand under the icy hot spray. 

He feels like a new man after, even if his stomach grumbles loudly in protest. 

When he makes it down to the kitchen, toweling off his hair as he goes, he’s surprised to find the area blissfully empty for once. It’s often crawling with people, their elbows clashing as they each fight for space at the breakfast counter. Of the property’s 250 employees, only 25 live on site, but still everyone seems to congregate in the living quarter’s kitchen despite the massive mess hall they have two buildings down. 

Even with the barren area, there’s no time to eat now, so Mitch grabs a water bottle as he goes, in a hurry to get back to work before someone notices his absence. 

When asked later, he’ll say he didn’t squeak when he turned to find a person behind him, but the noise he hears come from his throat is undoubtedly high pitched and frightened in nature.

“Auston?” The shock has Mitch’s heart hammering against his chest. To calm it’s racing cadence, he finds his hand gripped over his shirt as if it’s possible to physically slow its tempo. 

“Sorry to scare you,” Auston rushes to say. He’s holding his hands out like Mitch is a spooked horse, about to run for the hills and never come back. “I wanted to apologize, for yesterday.” 

Mitch stares at him dumbly, then looks around at the vacant living room and kitchen, and is decidedly unsettled. “So you came into our house?” 

It’s a line even the worst owners don’t cross. Despite being at their beck and call, most people realize that courtesy doesn't extent into the stable hands' personal lives and homes. 

Dubious over the rider’s intent, Mitch tries to not make it obvious as he looks for something to defend himself with. Of course today is the day whoever leaves the butter knife out every morning decides to actually put it away. 

“No,” Auston amends, “Really, no. That’s so creepy. I have boundaries. I do.” 

Not so sure, Mitch raises an eyebrow and keeps the kitchen island pointedly between them. 

“I ripped my shirt,” Auston explains in a hurry, and turns to show Mitch the bloody but shallow gash that goes from his shoulder to his ribcage. “It’s nothing- Nala’s just having a bad day, but John said I could run up here and borrow a shirt from his room but I’m kind of lost. I just heard someone and I’m glad it was you- I was a jerk the other day. I shouldn’t be prying into your life like that.” 

It’s a lot to process all at once, especially with his defenses raises. 

“So, yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Auston looks honestly nervous, his hands wringing together and his weight shifting from foot to foot. It’s enough to make Mitch believe him. 

“Okay,” he says, and at least lets his shoulders relax. He can deal with Nala, he can deal with one of their most important clients in his home, and he can deal with helping Auston find a new shirt. 

It’s just his luck that Morgan chooses that moment to round the corner. He’s in sweats and a loose t-shirt, coffee gripped lovely in his hands like always, but at the sight of Auston he straightens like a rod’s been shoved unpleasantly down his spine. 

“Auston?” He asks in shock, and looks between the two of them, each still on separate sides of the counter. “Is there something I can help you with?” 

Even in sweatpants, Morgan is all business, telling of the reason he’s the youngest barn manager of a multi-million dollar operation in current history. Mitch can’t wait to be grilled about this and the house rules later. The looks Morgan is sending him are questionable at best now, but at least there’s no yelling. 

And Auston, completely unaware of the balance he holds over Mitch’s job and life, replies to Mo casually and with a charming smile that has no effect until his reason for being there is explained. “Mitch was just about to help me find Johnny’s room. He’s borrowing me a shirt because Nala pushed me into her stall door and ripped mine.” 

At the explanation, Morgan’s frown deepens even as something in him seems to relax knowing exactly why Auston is in their home. “Mitch, you’ll school her tonight,” he decides. 

Already having expected to work a late day, Mitch nods his agreement and motions Auston towards the hall that leads to the staircase going up to their rooms. 

Auston goes first, past Mo with a bashful smile of thanks, but when Mitch goes to pass, Morgan’s hand catches his arm, holding him back. 

“You okay?” He says it low, so only Mitch can hear. 

Quick to nod, Mitch breaks away from Morgan’s hold before Auston can see. The other man doesnt need to know how protective Morgan can be of this place, his people, and their values. “I’m good.” It’s nice knowing he cares so much about them and that Auston’s excuses wouldn’t come first if he came into their home without a damn good reason. 

-

“Wow these are big rooms,” Auston comments when Mitch pushes his was into Johnny’s space. 

“Bigger than the regular ones,” Mitch counters, thinking of his own box of a room. Vets get dibs when a new spot opens up each year, and Mitch has been hoping one will be passed down to him soon. Being in the same room for six years has started to loose its charm. 

In Johnny’s closet, immaculate as always, each piece of clothing is neatly hung and folded. He’ll kill Mitch if he leaves it a mess, so he takes his time digging through the closet until he finds something the vet won’t miss. “This should fit you alright,” he says, and tosses the shirt to Auston. 

Mitch expects him to take it to the bathroom to change, so he makes himself comfortable on the bed while he waits. After years of abuse, Johnny’s mattress caves as he sits. He’d be bothered, probably complain, but he’s distracted and left wide eyed when Auston starts to strip in front of him. 

Pointedly, and with an awkward cough, his eyes fall to the unique pattern of Johnny’s bedspread to avoid seeing anything. Its fabric is scratchy but cool under him, offering a small dose of comfort in the midst of Auston’s intimidating presence.

Back in the day, Mitch used to sleep up here. Sixteen and terrified, John took him under his wing and nursed him into a functioning person. He made sure Mitch stayed in school and finished his homework and had enough time to do chores to earn his stay. 

At night, John would push pillows between them and keep the blanket pulled up over Mitch’s shoulders each time he trembled hard enough for it to fall away. Those days, Mitch was too terrified to sleep in his own room, even if it was marginally better than the one at his parents’ house. 

After that year, his Mom stopped calling so frequently. The care her and his dad gave dwindled down to duties required by law to keep him in school and after that, dwindled down to nothing. 

Every step of the way, John was there without fail, making a home for Mitch here when no one else wanted him. 

The memories come back with such startling clarity that it puts a melancholic pressure over his chest. 

He was nothing more than a skinny and skittish teenager, but John turned him into something confident and brave. 

It wasn't long after that Patty and Mo followed John into parenting him, but they all had their own issues to take care of too. It wasn’t common for free housing and free food to be taken up by people who didn’t truly need it for one reason or another. A lot of them were running; some of them still are. 

“You know,” Auston says, snapping Mitch away from his darkening thoughts, “I look pretty good in pink.” 

Breaking back into the present, Mitch can’t help but agree. Auston fills out the shirt nicely, his biceps straining at the sleeves and his chest on clear display. Mitch has to pinch at his own thigh just to remind himself that he isnt dreaming. 

“Let’s hope Nala doesnt mistake it for red," he quips, "Sounds like she’s been a bull today.” He’s proud of how even it comes out, and it succeeds in distracting Auston and forcing their way out of the living quarters. 

They talk shop all the way back to stables, Nala’s issues at the forefront of their minds with competition so close. Though she wont be showing any time soon, they can’t keep risking Auston’s health with her outbursts. Team U.S.A. can’t afford to take a hit to their star rider this close to the big event, especially not if Willy’s riding has gotten as good as talk suggests. 

As they round the corner to the stables, the view of the grounds stretching on for miles catches Mitch off guard. It’s as beautiful as always, but after thinking on his past, he appreciates it so much more now. 

This- these people and animals- are his life now and he couldn’t be happier. 

-

He retracts his earlier statement by mid afternoon; he _could_ be happier. 

Nala is as bad as she’s even been, wild down to her core in a way that Mitch hasn’t seen since her first day here, when the shock of the move had her bucking at everything. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t get on,” Auston tells him nervously as Nala tires herself out with a mad dash from one end of the indoor arena to the other. She got lose the second the gate snapped closed, head butting Mitch out of her way to twist and flail at the jumps and fences. 

“I’ve ridden worse,” Mitch promises, unworried, and starts making his way towards the corner she’s been hell bent on tearing up. 

“You’re okay, you’re fine,” he tells her, over and over again in what he hopes is a deep, soothing voice. 

When he gets too close she stands at attention, her body squared up to his like she’s ready to charge. 

In her eyes fright dances like fire, prodding her on.

Mitch has seen that look before, and able to read the signs she’s giving, he decides to back off, his hands held up in innocence. He offers one out to her when her ears perk, unpinned for the first time since he got a saddle on her. 

She can’t deny her own curiosity, knowing the types of things Mitch holds out to her are usually sweet and tarte. 

When her lips tickle his hand, searching, he goes gently for her reins. “There you go,” he encourages her, and leads her off towards the mounting block. 

She takes off the second his foot touches the stirrup, leaving him standing uselessly without a horse and with a crowd of onlookers laughing. He gives them all an acknowledging bow as he steps off the block. His schooling always tends to turn into a clinic, riders and coaches alike watching him wrestle an animal into a good horse. 

With a patient sigh, he starts over the corralling process once again. 

They play chicken like that for a while, small changes in her behavior each time until Mitch gets on her back without her trying to buck or seeming to consider a roll. 

By the time he’s lining up for his first jump, he’s reminded with a call of “Good luck,” from the sidelines that Auston’s been watching this whole time. 

The champion rider is looking on in wonder, his head rested in his arms that are crossed over the top of the fence. Every other minute, Mitch sees him ramble something excitedly to Johnny, who’s come to watch Mitch work.

As if knowing her audience expects a show, Nala skids to a stop, flinging Mitch forward and into her neck as she denies the jump. It’s a wake up call to pay attention to the task at hand. 

Accordingly, Mitch refocuses, loosening his reins and letting her walk around the jump before he pulls her back in, fighting for an even canter and a straight stride back to the jump she refused. 

This time there’s no hesitation. Mitch pushes at a perfect six stride count and Nala listens. Even with a good stride, he feels like he’s flying on her. She’s sure and confidant, speaking to her young nature.

“Good girl,” he rewards her with gusto, patting her neck as they round the corner for the next jump. She nearly gets him this time, flying to the left like she’s seen a snake wrapped around the posts. It’s his weak side, so it’s close, but he stays on, again taking his time with her to let her see her surroundings. 

Eventually, he hopes she’ll trust him enough to believe his judgement and follow his commands. 

A second time around, she denies him again. A third in a real event would be a disqualification, so as much as Mitch hates it, he forces her forward and over the jump with a well timed kick and crop. Her ears stay pinned until she lands, bucking and throwing her head the whole way. 

“You’re fine,” he tells her, and takes two jumps in quick succession to get her back into a steady rhythm. 

By his next course they’re flying, reading each other without reserve. The crowd that gathered to watch them is mostly gone now that he’s broken her in. She picks up on his breathing, his posture, and together they move as one, tackling a high level course without so much as a slip. There’s no doubt in Mitch’s mind that she’s going to be a champion someday. 

He can’t help but look over at Johnny and Auston, his smile so wide his cheeks ache with the feel of it. 

“She’s amazing,” he gushes, and their responding hollers lead him forward. They’re at the last jump, a glimpse at victory, when something slams into the near side barn wall. 

He’s too unprepared to counter it. 

The resulting fall is viscous; ground meets him with a quick and painful punch that violently strips the air from his lungs. 

His chest burns deep with it, sand scraping down his throat as he gasps into the dirt. He’s on fire, he’s sure of it. There’s no other explanation for the way his body alights. 

For a second all he can do is try to breathe, comprehension filling his head in syrupy slow seconds. 

It takes him another second more to realize he’s been thrown, and then another to realize that he’s not breathing the way he should be. With a push, he rolls over onto his back.

Somehow it’s easier like this, flecks of dust pluming from his mouth as he finally forces his chest to expand. 

Above him the ceiling beams seem to grow and shrink, swaying in time with his frantic, half-halted breaths. He tries to find purchase, but his eyes are dizzy, unable to latch onto a focal point fast enough before the next wave of nausea blooms. 

Breath by panting breath he settles, but still it feels like an eternity. 

As he finally blinks his eyes into focusing, the turning of the world under him still doesnt stop. It’s probably not good; probably a concussion, maybe a bruised rib or two. 

Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he cant help but close his eyes and try to get a feel for the rest of his body. 

It’s then that a warm hand lands protectively over his sternum and another set grips his biceps, keeping him down against loose sand. 

“ _Shit Mitchy_ ,” John swears from above him. Mitch can feel the older’s hands shake as they skirt down his sides, checking for wounds. He doesnt want to scare John, so he forces his eyes to open. It takes more effort than it should. 

“Mitch? You hearing me?” 

He nods, tries in vain to push himself up, and ultimately gives into the ache spreading from his shoulder down to his hip and stays laying down. 

“Is Nala okay?” His ribs protest the air it takes to speak, but it’s worth it for the relived smile John beams down at him.

“He’s okay,” John says instead, to whoever’s on Mitch’s other side. It hurts to turn his head that way to see who he’s talking to, but Mitch is rewarded with Auston’s dark brown eyes, wide and focused on him, up close enough to touch. Mitch never noticed before, but he has flicks of amber dotted in near his pupil. It’s hypnotizing. 

For just a minute he allows himself to swim in their color, a reward for the pain he knows he’s going to have to face once he’s cognizant. As he does, they keep talking above him in what he can only assume is a call to their medical trainers. 

“Let me up,” he tells John, when he’s taken his fill of Auston’s eyes. 

His head is cloudy enough that he thinks he can get away with it. 

“No,” John tells him, “you’re staying down until Freddie gets here.” His hands tighten their grip on Mitch’s biceps, but never enough to hurt. 

“Where’s Nala?” Mitch asks again, when he realizes he never got an answer. For the last minute, his world has felt narrowed down to the two people hovering over him, but he takes a second now to try to look around. His neck protests the movement before he can find her. 

“Mo’s got her, don’t worry.” John is always so gentle with him, always watching out for him. In that moment, Mitch feels his love him; knows that John’s as much of a Dad to Mitch as he is his brother and friend. 

“I’m fine, you can let me sit up.” His convincing does no good, but they cant stop him from struggling to get a look as Mo brings Nala closer. 

She looks downright sorry, her ears back and head tipped forward, reaching out to sniff him. He pushes John off him just to heft himself upright. “I’m okay,” he promises, squeezing john’s hand in his before he drops it and asks for Nala’s reins. 

Auston helpfully grabs them from Mo and leads her closer with a carefulness that speaks as a reminder of her strength. 

“You did so good,” Mitch promises her, and pats at her head as she gently presses it to his side in apology. “Did you check her legs?” he asks Mo. “What even happened?” 

As the adrenaline overtakes the pain, he becomes terribly anxious. 

Careful as he pushes Nala back, Morgan crouches down by him. He’s seen enough falls to know that what Mitch needs right now is a friendly face and a calm tone to help the adrenaline back off slowly. “A horse by the drive spooked and kicked out. Its hoof hit the side door and Nala threw you. She’s okay, not even a scratch on her, but fuck, Mitchy, you’re lucky you didn’t hit the jump.” 

That makes sense. He can picture it; can _feel_ how it happened, what he should’ve done to counter it. 

“I know what I can do better next time,” he says earnestly. 

Morgan laughs, soothes a hand down his side, "I'm sure you do." 

“But, you know, not my worse course,” Mitch teases, and twists each way to make sure he can. There’s a breathtaking twinge, but nothing that can’t be fixed with time and rest. No hospital this time, if he's lucky. 

“Hate to have seen what you consider bad.” Auston had stepped back after Mitch sat up, to give him room to breathe and be with Johnny and Mo, but now Mitch misses his proximity and the depth in his eyes. They were nice eyes, kind, and gentle. 

The pause from Mitch as he gets lost in thought makes Mo fill in the gap in the conversation. A concussion is looking more and more likely.

“Bad was Mitchy breaking four bones at the same time and spending a month in the hospital," Mo explains. 

With a wince, Auston’s eyes take him in. “Yeah,” he decides, “this is practically just a scrape on the knee for you, isn't it?” 

The truth is overwhelmingly unfortunate. 

Thankfully, Freddie breaks their reverent moment. “Mitch Marner lives another day, huh?” 

Their medical trainer dips under the fence with a smooth, calm ease, a smile on his face that instantly lightens the mood. 

Mitch really likes Freddie, enough so that he wishes he didn’t only get to see him whenever his ribs are trying to work their way out of his body. 

Like always, Freddie is quick to get down to business. He checks Mitch over with three hovering men at his back and loudly declares that Mitch is _’fine, thank you’_ , when Johnny asks him to check his ribs again. 

“He’ll have some bruising, some discomfort, most likely a concussion. I’d say just keep an eye out and check in with me in the morning.” 

Mitch appreciates his flippancy as Morgan and John breathe down the doc’s neck for answers. 

“So," he starts cautiously, "can I get back on?” 

He’s rewarded with four very telling glares. 

“I’ll get Andreas to finish the course and school her,” Mo promises, when Mitch’s shoulders drop in disappointment. “You should shower and lay down. Tonight’s not going to be much fun for you.” 

It’s true enough if the way his side is starting to thrum is anything to go by. It’s the only reason he lets Auston and Johnny help pull him up. 

For a second there he waivers and panics, thinking he’ll fall right back down, but Auston is there in a heart beat, holding him up with steady, strong arms. It’s always the worst getting back up after a fall, being able to fully feel for the first time the weakness in your shaking legs and the frailness in your pounding heart. 

“Thanks,” Mitch remembers to say, maybe a second too late. 

At his back, Mo starts gently brushing the sand from his clothes and John comes into his space to unclip his helmet. It’s a lot, to have all these people closing in on him and taking care of him. It makes him think back to memories of his mother, straightening a tie around his neck for his cousin’s wedding. 

He strips their doting hands away with a panicked breath in and harsh shoves. “Stop. I’m okay,” he tells the four matching startled looks set on him, just to remind them. 

Mitch can barely make himself make eye contact under the embarrassment of his reaction, but he finds it’s easier to look at John and only John, and to pretend he’s the only one there. He, at least, has already seen him at his lowest. 

“Mitch,” Johnny starts, and his startled look turns sad, “You scared us. Just let us help you.” He never asks for much, and has never asked for repayment of the years Mitch took from him, forcing him to be a parental figure to a kid he didn't ask for; the least Mitch can do now is listen. 

Mitch tries to nod, tries to let them come closer, but his heaving breaths give away his anxiety as much as his pain. 

“We need to help you walk,” John tells him sternly and with finality, when he nearly falls with his first, unassisted step. 

Rightfully so, Mitch nods after that and holds his breath as he lets all three of them lead him to his room. 

It’s a long journey of bitten-off gasps of pain and muttered curses. 

“Auston, we’ve got this,” John promises from Mitch’s bathroom, when they’ve finally settled him on the edge of the tub. There’s no reason for Auston to still be here, Mitch thinks, unless he feels guilty that Nala is the one that threw him. 

“I don't blame Nala,” he says seriously, just to clear the air, “and you shouldn’t either. She was perfect after the first two lines.” 

It’s maybe telling that Auston still hesitates. “I don’t blame her either," he says, "but I’d like to stay if that’s okay with you? I want to make sure you’re really alright.” 

Behind Auston’s line of sight, Morgan’s eyebrows raise and Mitch catches his reaction before he can school it away. 

It’s his look that breaks away the anxious twist in Mitch’s stomach. Beside him, Johnny just looks just as impressed. 

“I’m okay with it if Mom and Dad are,” Mitch jokes weakly, giving off liability to the ones in charge. 

There’s not exactly protocol for horse owners staying in the worker’s housing quarters. 

“It’s fine,” Morgan decides, but eyes them both, “but no funny business. I’ll know.” 

Mitch can’t meet his eyes as his face heats with the implication of his words. 

-

In the shower Mitch decides that yes, he is as concussed as he first believed he was. His head pounds from the small amount of light and noise, but even that cant overshadow the amazing caressing feel of hot water sliding down his throbbing side. 

The bruising has started already, painting his shoulder, ribs, and hip in faint yellows and browns. By morning he knows they’ll be purple, blue, and black and hot to the touch. 

“You okay in there?” Johnny had been kind enough to plant himself on the sink counter and refuse to leave. 

“Still alive,” Mitch chirps back. He can only imagine the third degree Auston is getting downstairs from Mo. 

“So,” Johnny starts, and trails off, as if considering his line of attack. “Auston Matthews eh?” 

Mitch has to physically close his eyes to bear the question. “What about Auston Matthews?” 

“A little birdy told me he was in the kitchen with you this morning. Not to mention that last night he was in Nala’s stall with you.” 

How John and Morgan manage to know everything is beyond him. 

“He’s a nice guy,” Mitch comments and hope it sounds as ‘bros’ as he means it to. He’s always had a fascination with Matthews’ riding, but even he can admit that this year there’s something new and tugging about the air of genuine care and confidence that surrounds the rider. 

“You need a nice guy,” John says approvingly. 

Mitch can only imagine his dumb, smug smile from behind the shower curtain. Instead of fumbling for a response and digging himself deeper, he shuts off the water with his foot so that he doesnt have to bend and inflame his side. 

Silently, John pushes a towel through to him and waits until Mitch pushes back the curtain to grab onto his arm to help him step over the tub’s edge. He’s achey already, feeling the impact full force now that his adrenaline has completely weaned down. 

“Feeling it yet?” John asks, like his eyes aren’t tracing the edges of blossoming bruises. 

“Just a bit,” Mitch lies. It’s maybe telling that he lets Johnny help ease his body into a shirt and sweats, but he cant be bothered to care. Morgan will know by morning the extent of his injuries after his check in with Fred anyway; there’s no use hiding it. 

-

Each step down the stairs leaves him biting his lip harder and harder to keep in the pained groans he wants so badly to make. 

To his credit, John is as patient as ever with him, a hand wrapped protectively around Mitch’s bicep and his steps slow to match the tempo Mitch sets. 

“Maybe I should stay upstairs,” Mitch considers, when they’re only halfway down and he’s started to sweat with the exertion. 

“Morgan said you didn’t eat lunch,” John says seriously, “you can’t skip dinner too.” 

If he wouldn’t have reminded him, Mitch would’ve never remembered. As it is, he has a hard time thinking back to what he did this morning. 

They make it down the rest of the steps twice as slowly as they did the first half. It’s not pretty, but it gets him sitting at the breakfast counter with a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread in front of him. 

“Did Gauthier make this?” It’s his favorite. Their cook only makes it once a month and Mitch swears that’s how he keeps on weight. 

Distracted on the other side of the counter, Morgan nods, his head buried in his phone. He’s probably making arrangements for someone to cover for Mitch’s stable block. “I caught him leaving the mess hall,” he says, “When he heard what happened he wanted to make your favorite.” 

“I should fall off every day,” Mitch chirps and digs in. 

As they settle into easy conversation, Auston stays uncharacteristically silent, twirling his phone around in his hands like he’s waiting for a text or call. Mitch hopes Morgan didn’t give him the third degree too badly. 

Mitch's next ravenous bite features a meatball, perfectly cooked and season. “This is amazing,” he gushes, and gulps down the lemonade Johnny slides to him. 

After a couple more bites, Mitch is disappointed to find he cant eat much more, nausea holding him back. 

“Want to finish it?” He asks Mo, but it’s Auston who perks up at the question. 

Mo must see the hunger in his eyes too. “Take it, kid,” he offers and pushes the plate towards Auston. 

Auston shovels in the first few bites like he’s starving, then moans when he finally seems to taste what he’s eating. “They make this is in the mess hall?” 

Even talking with a full mouth is somehow still attractively charming on him. 

“You haven’t met the Goat?” John asks. When Auston shakes his head, Johnny pulls out his phone. Mitch knows the picture he’s showing off by heart. It’s all the workers who stayed for their last thanksgiving, a meal big enough for an army spread out over a dinning table in the cafeteria. “He’s a French chef. Honestly his pay check is probably the highest here but it’s worth it, man,” Johnny dishes. 

Auston barely nods and breathes with the way he’s shoveling in the pasta so fast. “Chris has me eating these stupid protein bars for breakfast and dinner,” he explains, and stop slurping in spaghetti only to take a giant bite out of the garlic bread. His eyes roll back at the tase and his expression turns longingly back to the pasta. “He’d kill me if he knew I was eating this.” 

Mitch feels bad enough to forfeit his lemonade over too. Auston finishes it in two gulps, seeming to bask in its sweetness. 

“Well, we won’t tell if you don't,” Morgan laughs and fills Auston up a glass of water, probably so that he has something to drink when he undoubtedly chokes. 

Mitch likes seeing this human side of Auston. He’s so used to the rider, the champion, that he forgets sometimes that Auston’s just as young and impressionable as he is. 

“You should drop that asshole,” Mitch decides. 

For a second, clearly panicked, all Morgan can do is gape at him. It’s probably the concussion making Mitch so loose-lipped, but he doesnt regret his words. He just shrugs innocently as Mo tries to fight his way through damage control. 

“He doesnt mean that,” he tells Auston firmly. “As an organization we love working with both you and your agent and appreciate the respect and prestige you bring as a winning champion to our stables.” 

Auston cuts him off with a laugh and a dismissive wave of his fork-yielding hand. “Chris _is_ an asshole,” he reiterates, “I’m just waiting out my contract with him. It’s only a couple more months and honestly, I think if I win the olympic title he’ll leave me alone.” 

“Good call,” Mitch says and shares a bashful smile with him. 

Morgan still waivers. “Either way, I apologize for Mitch’s words. If he weren’t concussed I’m sure he’d never say something so damaging about an agent or his work.” 

Auston absolutely beams. “You’ve said shit about his work too?” 

Mitch nods fervently. “One time, last summer, I said-”

Johnny’s hand comes up and covers his mouth. It’s probably for the better, with the way Morgan’s hiding his horror in his hands. 

-

They switch over the tv after it’s decided that it’s better for Mitch to stay quiet rather than ruin their stable’s professional, top tier reputation all together. 

He ends up wedged between Johnny and Auston on their oversized couch big enough for at least eight people, with Johnny close to keep him in check and Auston closer to keep him happy. 

Between the long day he’s had and the way the light from the tv bothers his eyes, he’s left slipping closer and closer to Auston and sleep as the show they picked plays on. 

When he wakes up, hours later, his neck and side have begun to tighten up. He realizes that first, before he takes in the comfortable body he’s laying against. 

Auston is as comfortable as he looks, relaxed muscles and thick build proving to be a good pillow. Normally Mitch would be embarrassed at their position, especially with someone he'd consider a stranger despite the years of acquaintance between them, but as it as, he’s in too much pain to care to move. 

“He’s been asleep just as long as you have,” Mo tells him, when he notices Mitch’s opened eyes. “Poor kid’s probably feeling the stress of the olympics.” 

Even half sleep, Mitch knows what that sympathetic look on Mo’s face means. Auston will be adopted like him and all the others. 

“How’re you feeling?” Mo asks then and stands up to fix a blanket around the two of them. Mitch hurts too much to move away and, despite waking up, his head feels cloudier than ever. 

“Hurts,” he admits. “Can you turn the tv off?” The volume is already down low, but the light’s starting to hurt his eyes. 

Without pause, Morgan shuts it off. It leaves the room bathed in only moonlight and the lights that shine in from the path in the woods that leads towards the stables. 

“I’m going to sleep here Mitchy,” Mo tells him softly, “just yell if you need anything.” He tucks Mitch in tighter before he goes back to the other side of the couch. 

Under him, Auston’s so warm that Mitch doubts he even needed the blanket Mo gave them, but he feels safer like this, tucked in tight and close between the back of the couch and Auston’s large, muscled frame.

Falling back asleep is terrifyingly easy. 

-

When he’s woken up again, it’s to Mo hovering over him and early sunlight turning the room blue. 

“What’s the date?” Morgan asks, his voice too loud and the room too bright. It’s so much input all at once that Mitch cant help but groan. 

Mitch hates him. 

“Don’t fuckin’ know,” he grumbles, and hides his face in Auston’s chest. For a minute he wonders how they got in this position, with strong arms wrapped around his frame, but he’s too irritated to truly care. 

“Just answer and you can go back to sleep. I need to make sure you’re not dying.” 

He loves Morgan, but he honestly considers hitting him in the balls just to stop him from pulling the blanket back down from where he has it pulled over his head. 

“Just tell me what day it is,” Mo begs. 

Mitch wishes he knew, but he doesnt. He tries to remember what yesterday was, but it doesnt come to him. It’s as angering as the finger poking into his good side, keeping him awake. 

“Don’ remember,” he admits, and prays his honesty is enough to get Morgan off his back. 

“Yesterday was Thursday,” Mo instead tells him gently. “Are you okay enough to go back to sleep?” 

“Yes,” Mitch hisses vehemently. This time, when he pulls the blanket back up, Morgan just tucks it tighter around him. 

“See you in four hours.” 

He groans back his own impolite version of a ’goodnight.’ 

-

When he wakes up again it’s because Auston is sneaking out from under him. 

“Hey. Sorry,” he whispers, when Mitch manages to blink blearily up at him despite the still-beaming sun. 

“You’re leaving?” He tries not to let his disappointment show, even as he curls into the spot of warmth Auston left in his wake. 

“I have to ride in a half hour,” he answers apologetically. 

Mitch groans. He doesnt want to get up. As the night progressed, his soreness turned to a tight, deep ache. Each movement feels like he’s tearing his muscles from his bones. 

In regret, he buries his head in one of the pillows and breathes through the pain. He can do this, he tells himself, he can make it through today. “I’ll get Nala ready in a minute. I just need a second.” 

Auston makes a panicked, hushing sound. “You’re not moving off that couch unless it’s to see Freddie. Seriously, Mo said you have off for a week minimum until you’re cleared to ride and do chores again.” 

“Oh,” Mitch says, and tries to remember when all of that was decided. 

“Do you not remember?” Auston asks him gently, like he’s barely held together and has to be spoken softly to. Mitch hates how much it calms him. 

“It’s fine,” he decides. It’s probably not very fine. 

“Don’t lie. Just- Fuck,” Auston swears, and runs his fingers through his unkept hair. The rumor mill around the stables is about to get a lot hotter once people see him looking like that. There’s an air of shame in his day old clothes and the cowlicks in his hair. “Freddie’s at his clinic today. I can give you a ride after I lesson, if you don’t mind waiting?” 

Mitch only agrees because he should, not because he’s worried. 

“Sleep more,” Auston tells him. And that, at least, he can do. 

-

Mitch wakes up back in his bed, unsure how he got there, with his face jammed against a warm and sweaty chest. When this used to happen he’d know without a doubt who it was by the aftershave. Johnny never liked anything fancy, but Marty always smelt like the dark sunset scents they’d spray at you in the mall. 

Now, Mitch isn't so sure. Sometimes Matthews comes to the stables smelling of expensive colognes similar to Marty’s and other days he comes smelling of fresh body wash or sticky hot sweat. 

“How’s your head?” 

The voice rumbling under Mitch’s ear is Marty’s this time. 

“Don’t you have a job to do?” Mitch would apologize for the snark, but Marty’s more than accustomed to his slight attitude problems when the sun’s barely risen. 

“It’s five pm, Mitchy. I’m done for the day.” 

In that moment time bends. The light filtering in through the curtains no longer feels inviting and instead feels mocking, reminding Mitch of the day he’s wasted to sleep. 

“I came to check on you,” Matt tells him. 

With startling clarity in a foggy mind, Mitch remembers that Auston said he’d drive him to see Freddie after he rode.

Matt doesnt mind as Mitch uses his body to push himself up. “Careful now,” he warns instead, and grunts through the pain of Mitch’s hand planting in his stomach. 

It’s pathetic how much his body protests such a small movement. 

“What’s got you in a rush?” Matt looks terribly sad at his departure. 

“I’ve got to shower,” Mitch explains, and fights off his shirt, “I’m going to Freddie’s office to get checked today.” 

Getting into the shower is twice the battle, his hip too sore to stretch over the tub.

Once he’s in, he does his own check of his injuries. His knees feel fine, his hips less so, and his chest still burns. Overall, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. 

The relief leaves him unprepared when he’s assaulted with the thought of his body landing differently, his breath not coming back to him. 

He fights off the thought with another: a long time ago he accepted that one day this life could kill him, but it’s not today. 

By the time he’s out of the steaming water and dressed, it’s to the low rumble of two stilted voices coming from his bedroom. There’s just no mercy for him today. 

The scene he cautiously walks into is loaded; Auston stands with his arms crossed by the door and Matt is frozen, sat up shirtless on the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“Not every day one of your employers finds you topless in bed,” Marty jokes.

It falls unbearably flat. 

Auston’s awkward, fake laugh is too obviously strained. 

“We should probably go,” Mitch says, and grabs his things in a hurry, trying not to favor his good side as each movement pains him. Behind him, Matt waves a silent, thankful goodbye. 

When they make it to the steps, Auston holds his arm out like how he helped Mitch down them the other night with Johnny. 

“I’m better today,” Mitch lies, and takes the first three steps in quick succession just to prove it. 

Auston eyes him critically, seeming to pick up on the panting rush of pain that Mitch tries and clearly fails to hold back.

“See,” Mitch says despite the evidence, then, through gritted teeth, “totally fine,” and takes the next three again, one after another. 

Silently, Auston grabs his arm to hold him back. They go slower, at his insistence. 

“Humor me,” he begs, when Mitch tries to keep his same one-two-three-rest, tempo going. 

Sometime after they make it down to the car and Auston does up Mitch’s seatbelt and shuts his door for him, the uncomfortable awkwardness creeps back into the air. 

“So,” Auston breaks the silence for the first time in two minutes and twenty-one seconds- not that Mitch has been counting. “Is Matthew Martin your boyfriend?” 

“ _Matthew Martin_ ,” Mitch mimics with a snort. 

From the corner of his eye he sees Auston’s hand tighten around the wheel, making Mitch’s laugh choke off in his throat. There’s something about the power of his hands, the expensive car under his grip, and his clear annoyance that makes Mitch a little too hot under the collar. 

“Do you have air conditioning?” He fiddles with the controls despite not knowing what does what. 

“Stop avoiding the question,” Auston counters, and swats his hand away. He does something complicated on the touch screen in the center console and a gush of cool air brushes Mitch's sweaty forehead. 

“No, he’s not my boyfriend,” Mitch finally answers, honestly. When he was a teenager that truth would’ve made his heart ache, but that crush grew out a long time ago, and they’re both better because of it. “He’s got a girl and a house off the property.” 

“Good for him,” Auston says. It’s the first time he’s sounded genuine today. 

“Why?” Mitch asks. 

Auston looks over at him and shrugs, playful. “Guess I got my eye on someone.” It’s said with the confidence of someone who’s used to getting anything and everything they want. 

It’s aimed at him. 

Mitch has to physically shake his head to make sure he’s hearing him right. “Sorry what?” 

Because that implies pretty heavily that Auston- that he- “I’m too concussed for this,” Mitch decides, and Auston’s teasing smile drops as he nods seriously. 

Mitch’s head is still spinning.

“We’re almost there,” Auston promises and turns his attention back to the road, like he didn’t just upend Mitch’s whole thought process with five simple words. 

There’s so many problems with what just happened. Mitch isn't even sure that he didn’t just make that whole conversation up in his head. It felt real, but would Auston just say that? Really? It's so cocky, so rude and sure, like Mitch would just be his if he asked. 

Which- well- Mitch will be the first to admit to himself and only himself that his crush on Matt ended mysteriously the week after Auston arrived on site as their newest rider. 

Even when Auston was younger- before the fame, fortune, and world titles- he treated riding like a religion, like an alter he worshiped. It was eyeopening to a younger Mitch, who thought their high brow riders could only love alongside the fierceness of competition. 

This year, when Mitch got transferred off of William’s block and back to Auston’s for the first time since he turned seventeen four years ago, he never expected the boy he once knew to be a man with the same values. 

Watching Auston ride now was still a pleasure, even more now while on the back of young, wild mare. Mitch just- he understood, how it felt to love such a large, dangerous animal and to raise it as your own despite the risks. It would’ve been a hell of a lot easier for Auston to take over her training once she had matured, but he hadn’t. It mattered to him that she loved him and knew she was his. 

His camp probably hated him for putting himself in danger. If it had been Auston that had tried to school her last night, he would be the one concussed now; it would put them back weeks, possibly forfeit his olympic title altogether. 

“You’re crazy,” Mitch tells him. 

Seemingly amused, Auston smiles. “And why’s that?” 

The truth comes out of Mitch willingly and hopelessly fond. “You’re wild, like your horse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you liked/don't like or what you'd want to see in the chapters to come :) Also this isn't going to focus on injury or anything- Mitch falling off was just a way to get him and Auston talking more so sorry to all the angst lovers out there haha 
> 
> Comments feed the writer!


	3. Chapter 3

Mitch hates doctors as a rule, but Freddie’s always felt a little different; less uptight, maybe, when it counted.

"Mitch Marner," a nurse calls. She's the same one as last time, and the time before that. "What did you did this time?" 

Mitch can't help but smile at her genuine exasperation. "Just a spooked horse," he tells her, and lets Auston help him to his feet. 

"Always something with you and those horses," she says knowingly, shaking her head. She keeps a slow pace with them as she leads them to the back rooms. 

"Just through here," she directs, and gives Mitch a sad smile. "Feel better, Sweetie, alright?" 

"Oh he's fine," Freddie greets them with, and takes Mitch's chart from the nurse. 

She doesn't seem pleased at his teasing. "Fine isn't walking with a limp like that, Dr. Andersen. You better put him on the good stuff." 

“Is he not already?" Freddie jokes, "Mitch are you sure haven't snorted anything recently?” 

In the second it takes Mitch to comprehend Freddie’s words, the doctor seems to reconsider his teasing jab as his laugh trails off. “…Actually, did you?”

It’s a hell of a way to start an exam. 

“No,” Mitch reassures him with a laugh, and eases his way onto the check out table. “Why?” His feet swing absentmindedly as he waits, knocking into the base below him. 

Wordlessly, Freddie points at his eyes in explanation, then hands over a mirror. 

“Whoa,” Auston breathes out, before Mitch can even take a look. 

Up to this point, Mitch has been trying to keep his distance from the rider, but that’s made twice as hard as Auston pushes into his space, holding tight under his chin to force their eyes to meet. 

It’s a lot, to be face to face again. 

Like back in the arena as Mitch’s mind swam in the pools of whiskey in Auston’s eyes, it’s drowning to the point of madness to look at him. 

He tries not to squirm away, tries to seem defiant and sure of himself, but Auston’s words in the car are still circling his mind, and the added proximity is enough to make him cave. He looks down, effectively removing Auston’s hand from his jaw where it had settled. 

“What’s up with my face?” He asks Fred defensively. 

Auston answers instead, still in awe. “Your pupils are, like, way different sizes.”

The mirror Mitch was given goes up in a heart beat, his own interest peaked at the phenomenon enough to erase his nerves . 

Each eye blinking back at him mimics the effect of two different drugs, like he took Coke and Molly all at once and his body was too confused to know which one to show the effects of. 

“So you definitely haven’t taken anything, even for the pain?" Freddie asks. "I won’t rat you out if you did." 

Mitch shakes his head honestly, still stuck looking at his reflection. “I look like a comic book character,” he thinks out loud. 

Freddie snorts. “What would your power be? Losing brain cells? Getting brain injuries?” 

“Lame,” Auston agrees, “Maybe he could speak to animals. The eye thing could just be an after effect of a training accident that turned radioactive.” 

“Nah, he already speaks to animals,” Freddie counters, making Mitch blush with the sureness of his words, “And plus, why does it always have to be radioactive shit?” 

Pointedly, Mitch clears his throat. “So, am I dying or what? Because this is honestly freaking me out a bit.” 

Freddie pretends to read through his chart. “Yeah,” he says sorrily, “time of death will be-” 

Mitch kicks at him. 

“Okay, okay, geez,” Freddie gives in, and motions towards Mitch’s eyes, “that’s all normal for a concussion, okay, don’t worry so much.” 

For the millionth time, Mitch is grateful that their care provider is ‘steady Freddie.’ There’s no real reason to panic yet; no reason to stop riding.

“Just with the past concussions-” Mitch can’t finish that thought, yet alone the sentence. 

Freddie squeezes his knee, their playful banter dissipating under the weight of their topic. “Hey,” he says seriously, and waits till Mitch meets his eyes to go on, “you’re fine, completely okay. You know I wouldn’t have waited till morning if I was worried this was serious.” 

Mitch nods and tries not to feel like a bobble head as he takes in the doctor’s words. “Just,” his fingers tangle nervously in his lap, “remember that bad fall I had a while back?” 

“Kind of hard to forget,” Freddie reminds him softly. 

Mitch knows he was one of the first on the scene, knows Freddie stayed with him until the ambulance came. 

“They told me if I had another fall like that, I’d be done,” Mitch admits. 

Maybe too confident, Freddie shakes his head surely. “They don’t know you and they don’t understand this sport. If the risks outweighed the benefits after this concussion I’d be upfront with you, Mitch.” 

Behind Fred, Auston stops fidgeting with the horse skeleton figure on the doctor's desk. Mitch suspects he was studying it to give them the illusion of privacy. “What about memory loss,” Auston asks then, missing the casual tone he was obviously going for by a mile. 

At his question, the atmosphere in the room grows that much heavier. “What are we talking here? How bad,” Freddie searches. 

“I’m right here,” Mitch reminds them. 

Fred waves away his words. “You’re going to tell me about your own memory loss?” 

Pathetically, Mitch’s mouth clacks shut. The doc’s got a point. 

“Just small stuff,” Auston amends, “like what day it was and that he had off for the week because of his fall.” 

Contemplating the new information, Freddie hums and goes back to the charts on his desk and Mitch’s test results. “I’d say just call me if anything progresses. It’s pretty normal to be hazy on events immediately before or after the initial impact. But Mitch, with your past riding accidents that is something to keep an eye on.” 

Even with the warning, Mitch lets his relief flood in. 

“The veterinary clinic is a one level down,” Freddie says then, and leads Auston to the door with a firm hand on his back, clearly pushing him out. “Why don’t you go talk to them about your other horse Hercules while I check Mitch over.” 

Before he leaves, Auston looks back, like he’s asking for permission to go. Mitch doesn't know what to make of that, but he gives Auston a pressed smile anyway as he waves him off. 

“So, lets get down to business,” Fred jokes, and throws Mitch an exam gown. “Do you need me to a get nurse to help you undress?” 

Mitch wants so badly to laugh away the offer, but he can’t. He’d rather save the embarrassment of having a stranger undress him though. “Could you do it instead?” 

Not a second’s hesitation in his response or his actions, Fred nods and steps closer. He's in a different head space now, clinical down to the bone as he eases Mitch shirt over his bruised shoulder and helps him shimmy the pants down his legs. 

If Mitch thought the mental tests from earlier in the day were painful, the following physical exam proves to be a rude awakening to reality. 

By the time Freddie’s done with him, everything hurts just a little bit more. 

-

It takes three days on injury leave for Mitch to consider faking his own death. It’s logical, see, because then he could come back as someone new, keep riding, and not have to sit around all day, alone and useless. 

“You’d run away with me, wouldn’t you, girl?” 

Maggy, one of the barn dogs, widens her eyes at him, seeming to say ‘ _you talking to me_?’

“Yeah, you,” Mitch tells her. 

She looks overall unimpressed. Which fair- he _is_ talking to a dog- but she’s all he’s got right now. 

“Just you and me.” He can imagine it now. “We could travel anywhere we wanted. Maybe we’d even have our own barn, with Johnny and Mo.” 

At Mo’s name her head perks up, her ears forward like she’s waiting to hear her favorite person walk around the corner. 

“Sorry girl,” Mitch pulls her closer and buries a hand in the ruff of her neck, scratching until she’s content enough to lay her head on his thigh. “He’s not here right now.” No one is. 

Even from a young age, Mitch never dealt well with loneliness. One way or another, between his brother and friends, he always had someone he could go to when the feeling struck. It’s a trait he never quite grew out of, especially after he moved in on the property and the number of people he could go to tripled. 

‘ _Just spend some time outside_ ,’ John had said to him this morning, when Mitch begged him not to leave him to die. It was dramatic and teasing, but John new Mitch better than anyone, and Mitch knew well enough that it was him who was sending people to check up on him every hour. 

So far Zach, Andreas, Z, Marty, and even Hanisey had all stopped by to say ‘hi’ to him. Even if they hadn’t came at obviously scheduled intervals, on the dot at the hour, Mitch would’ve known the culprit behind their short lived hang outs. 

“You’d visit me, wouldn’t you?” Maggie blinks back, uncommitted either way. “Even if Johnny didn’t ask?” 

Seeming to know he needs the comfort, she presses her wet nose to his stomach and huffs. 

He takes it as a ‘yes.’ 

-

The therapy Freddie makes him do for his shoulder and hip are exercises straight out of a 90’s work out video. 

He does lungs and leg lifts and even lifts fake dumbbells, all with Mo’s careful supervision. 

“Can I please be done?” He begs like a man working on his last limb, but Morgan never shows mercy. “One more set.” He himself is sat relaxing at the kitchen counter, reading his iPad and somehow still able to catch every time Mitch ‘accidentally’ misses a repetition. 

“Hurry up,” he chirps, and Mitch pulls himself to his feet with a groan, unable to stop the way he hangs heavy on his injured side. Compared to past accidents, this one isnt so bad, but it’s a persistent ache, pain a constant. It’s just annoying enough that Mitch wants it gone. 

His finishes his last round of exercises in half the time, pushed forward only by his will to be done.

“Okay,” Morgan decides, and looks him over appraisingly. Mitch doesnt want to know what he has up his sleeve. “How do you feel?” 

Testing his shoulder, Mitch gives it a few swings. “Brand new,” he lies. 

Morgan raises a knowing eyebrow at him. “Fine. Maybe tomorrow you can come down to the stables, I have something in mind for you to do.” 

Before Mitch can ask what, a sly smile spreads over Morgan’s face. “For now,” he says, “Auston is waiting for you at the pool.”

Mouth gaped open unattractively in surprise, all Mitch can do is ask “indoor or outdoor?” 

Morgan’s face scrunches up. “We have an indoor pool too?” 

Mitch snorts. “I stopped being shocked by this place years ago.” Between the gyms, locker rooms, riding arenas, tack rooms, observatory decks, and the acres of fields to drink in, there's always something new to find. It feels like each year another building goes up or another champion rider gets a new stable block. Somedays the pace of it all takes Mitch's breath away. 

“Yeah, look at us, living on a half billion dollar property,” Morgan teases wistfully. “Think of what my mom would say- she always thought this line of work would leave me homeless.”

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Not sure owning this place and living here rent free and are exactly the same thing.” 

Unbothered by his rebuttal, Morgan shrugs. “I’ve got two pools, seven stable blocks, and a mansion. And what does my conventionally brought up brother have? An apartment downtown? A boring-ass accountant’s degree?” 

It’s as a good of an argument as any. 

“Hey, if I sell it like you do maybe my dad would be proud too,” Mitch jokes. 

It lands a little awkwardly, and Morgan’s smile slips into something a lot more serious. “John and I," he says, his tone earnest, "we’re proud of you." And that’s all Mitch needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you'd like to see happen! I already plan for Willy to come into the story and for Mitch to get to see the olympics live ;) I also happen to have a trail ride written where Auston and Mitch take a swim but I don't know quite where it fits in yet. 
> 
> As always, comments feed the writer (literally, when I see the little number in my inbox go up my whole day shifts, so thank you to everyone who's commented and given this little story some love <33) 
> 
>  
> 
> P.s. I rode a horse today and he got me off because he acted like a big scared baby when he didn't understand what we were doing. He literally tried to jump over nothing?? As if that's something I would have him do?? Anyway, he ended up tripping, then righting himself and trying to run away. Thankfully he was tried so it wasn't anything wild, but I think I'd love to write Nala doing something as ridiculous as that to Auston, maybe when he's trying to show off to Mitch or something? :')


	4. Chapter 4

Like every other day, Mitch coerces Marty into giving him a ride to the other end of the property. It just seems like too much work to walk across the grounds when he’s got the other man in his back pocket and the excuse of an injury on his side. 

“Where to?” The mechanic skids to a stop in a golf cart, its wheels leaving tracks on the cobble stone. 

“Patty’s gonna kill you,” Mitch warns, and hops in before Matt can leave him without a ride for pointing that out. 

Marty never seems to care. He shrugs off Mitch’s warning with an all too charming smile. “If he can’t catch me, he can’t kill me.”

They’re unwise words for a man in a golf cart. 

“We gotta keep him on my good side,” Mitch reminds him. Patty does his job to the tee. And while that’s good for the company, it’s not so great for the residents. All six gatekeepers report directly to the vet. Their diligence has resulted in Mitch being brought back home, kicking and screaming, Patty pulling him along by his ear, more times than he can count. 

Admittedly it’s less of an occurrence now, but there was a time when he was an angsty teen and Patty was his judge and jury. It’s only fair that he makes up for his behavior now, especially when Pats has family dinners at his place once a month. Mitch would hate to be disinvited because of something as stupid as two tire lines in freshly-washed stone. 

“You’re of age,” Matt says, unworried, completing dismissing Mitch’s nerves. “He can’t do anything about it if you stay out past curfew.” 

One thing that Mitch has learned is that Matt always has an answer, even if he isn’t always right. Blatantly, Mitch wonders how well he’d deal with having two overprotective ‘Dads’. 

“Even if he couldn’t do anything job-wise he could still tell Morgan or Johnny,” Mitch argues, “Hell, I’d rather be reported to Lou than them.” 

Marty takes the next corner of the path too sharp, making Mitch slide helplessly into his side. He tries to hide the grimace that tears across his face, but Marty must see it. He slows down, avoiding bumps and branches altogether. 

“Thanks,” Mitch says. 

“Course, Kiddo,” he teases back. “Anyway, I get your worries about the Mr. and Mrs., but come on, Lou is the highest chain of command that exists around here. If you’re not scared of him, you’ve got your eggs in the wrong basket.”

Mitch’s nose scrunches up, unsure. “I don’t think you’re using that phrase right.” 

Their argument becomes inconsequential, lost to time as they pull up to the health and wellness center. It’s not a building Mitch frequents with all the heavy lifting and exercise he gets in his daily chores, but he knows his way to the indoor pool by heart. 

“Good luck, lover boy,” Marty goads him. 

He’s gone before Mitch can even chirp back. 

-

With years of work in the fields and with horses, Mitch has never been very self conscious of his weight. His body, on the other hand, is a whole other story. 

He has a scar across his ribcage, another over his collar bone, and a patch of hair that never grew back right. Each mark is another story, another riding accident. 

While he can hide the damage with clothes and his hair is thick enough to cover the mess there, he’s still not quite comfortable with himself the way he thinks he maybe should be. 

Auston Matthews clearly has no such qualms. 

He’s in hugging, attention grabbing leopard print shorts and a gold chain, tattoos and glistening toned muscles out for the world to see. 

Mitch gulps, tries to keep eye contact and not continuously rake his eyes over his body, and throws the shorts Auston gave him to borrow back at his head. “I’m not wearing that suit.” 

“Why?” Auston asks, like he’s not holding William Nylander’s skimpy, bright yellow bathing shorts. “Because they’re Will’s? He wont mind, I swear. He left him in his locker here anyway, it’s not like he-”

“No,” Mitch cuts him off. “That’s not why at all.” 

Like a confused, adorably dumb puppy, Auston’s head tilts. “Then why?” 

Any way he looks at it, Mitch decides it’d be more embarrassing to say why than to wear the stupid shorts. 

“Just gimme them.” He snatches them from Auston with a determined sort of anger and forces himself to put one foot in front of the other as he makes his way back to the changing rooms. 

They don’t look as bad as he expects them to, but that doesnt stop him from trying to pull them down lower over his thighs every other second. 

Auston wolf whistles when he sees him. 

“Shut up,” Mitch says, and tries to get in the pool as fast as possible to avoid being seen. 

Luck isn't on his side today though. He struggles with the steps, even with the aid of the railing. 

“Let me help,” Auston offers, and grabs Mitch under the arm to take some of his weight. 

If he didn’t desperately need the assistance, he’d punched Auston just for getting close enough to see his marks in full detail. 

“So,” Auston says, once they’re settled chest-deep in warm water. “How’ve you been with the injuries?” 

“Getting better,” Mitch answers truthfully, if not a little stinted. 

It’s hard not to notice how obviously awkward this is as they wade in a nearly empty pool, two feet apart and barely keeping up conversation. Eventually, Mitch has to wonder why, after days of radio silence, Auston chose now to talk to him. 

He cant keep his curiosity at bay. “Why the pool?” 

“It’s good for injuries,” Auston says, like it’s obvious. 

It does feel ridiculously good to not have a pulling weight on any part of his battered side. “Okay, but then why now?”

Like he’s helpless in finding an answer, Auston shrugs. “I guess I figured you’d be a little more clear-headed by now.” 

“About what you said in the car, right?” All this time, Mitch was wondering if they were just going to ignore that. 

“Yeah,” Auston admits, and seems to look self-conscious for the first time since they got to pool. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve waited-”

“Then why didn’t you?” 

Mitch can see the anxious breath Auston sucks in, like he’s physically steeling himself. There’s maybe something poetic about how they’re both bare-chested while having a conversation that seems to be stripping them down in more ways than one. 

“Willy told me I had to be confident, that I had to just find a way to say how I felt. And- I was worried if I didn’t say it then that I never would.” He lets his words settle, and when Mitch is left trying to comprehend the words along with the out of character, genuine nervousness coming from Auston, the other man seems to loose his bravo. His shoulders sink deeper in the water, like he’s trying to build a barrier between his open chest and Mitch’s potential response. “I guess it was easier to say it when you maybe wouldn’t remember it too,” Auston admits then. 

Mitch can’t help but laugh, a little incredulously. “You were banking on my concussion?” It’s theoretically a kind of shitty thing to do. 

“No,” Auston rushes to say, “I just think subconsciously that it just maybe made sense to me?”

“None of this makes sense,” Mitch tells him, because that at least does. 

“I know,” Auston promises, “Trust me, I know. I’m not saying this right, but I was out with Kyle today and he said something that really stuck; he said ‘repetition without improvement is a waste of time.’ And it hit me. I just- I see you every day and I image these stupid scenarios where you like me back and where we get Nala into shape together and where you’re there when I win gold… _if_ I win gold.” 

“You’ll win,” Mitch says while his mind plays catch up, because that at least he knows without a doubt. 

“But that’s the thing,” Auston says, in a rush and out a breath and seeming to shock even himself with the realization, “I wouldn’t care if I was last, as long as I was brining the trophy back to you.” 

There’s a lot to say about grand gestures, but Mitch’s mind blanks out when he needs it most. 

He’s spent years admiring Auston, watching him grow into a champion. He’s cheered him on through tv sets and radios, and popped Champagne during his victory speeches, and still at the end of the day there was always a little piece of him that wished he could be more than just a background character in his life. 

To hear now that he’s always been at center stage makes him feel like the ground’s been pulled from under him. 

But all of that is overshadowed by one name. 

“Kyle? Kyle Dubas?” 

Clearly thrown off by the switch in conversation, Auston hesitates, but ultimately nods. “Yeah, didn’t you hear? He’s buying this place out from Lou.” 

Mitch doesnt hear another word Auston says. It’s like his brain blacks out under the panic. 

“I have to go,” he chokes out, and turns before Auston can stop him. 

He struggles at the steps, and even after being rejected and put on hold, Auston still rushes to steady him and help him to the locker room. It’s just another reason to like him. 

“I promise we’ll talk later,” Mitch says, and tries not to feel bad for how let down Auston looks; He just refuses to rush his own admittances. “This is- I really need to see Morgan.” 

“Yeah,” he shakes his head like it’s nothing, “of course.” But it’s clear his heart isn't in it. 

Mitch wants so badly to comfort him, but the dread he feels is a heavy reminder of the situation at hand. 

He leaves before he can convince himself to stay. 

When he looks back, once and only once, Auston is running a hand through his hair, his eyes skyward like he’s begging the world around him to shift its reality. 

Mitch can understand the sentiment. 

\- 

 

He goes in swinging the second he finds Mo. The walk over gave him enough time to think, and now that he has, anger thrums through him like a tangible, pulsing heat. 

“When were you gonna tell me?” 

With furrowed brows, and a look around to see who may have heard Mitch’s outburst, Morgan leads him upstairs to his room. He’s the picture of calm as the world around Mitch tears itself apart. It just makes him angrier. 

“Sit down,” Morgan prods, and tries to help Mitch down. 

He’s too angry to be touched and too heartbroken to be coddled. He shoves Morgan’s well-meaning hands away, letting himself fall to the bed in a bouncing sit that has him biting back a hiss of breath. 

The pain is nothing compared to how pissed he is. “Kyle’s taking over? Are we even going to be able to live here anymore? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Morgan squeezes his knee, begs, “Mitch, please listen to me.” 

He has to bite his tongue to stop the hundreds of questions he has from pouring out. 

“Okay,” Morgan starts, once he knows he has his Mitch’s attention. He even pulls out his desk chair so that he can settle in front of him, eye to eye and on the same playing field. 

The moment is oddly reminiscent of Mitch’s teenage years. Through missed curfews, late homework assignments, and skipped chores all Morgan really cared about was making sure Mitch never got caught and kicked out. 

Now, five years later, Mitch stares him down as a father figure instead of a stranger, wondering how he kept something so big from him. Even put lightly it’s a let down, and for a second Mitch is sure every man in his life will only disappoint him in one way or another. 

That thought is too evil to let settle though, and he has to be forcefully push it out as he reminds himself that Morgan is different and separate in a thousand and one ways from his biological father. 

“First,” Morgan starts, unaware of the war waging on in Mitch’s head, “I was going to tell you the second the deal was finalized. Lou wasn’t the biggest fan of giving up power, but Kyle’s been on the door step for months.”

‘ _Months_?’ Mitch wants to scream. 

“I wasn’t going to freak you out for nothing if the deal wasn’t set to go through,” Morgan explains, calm and logically. 

Mitch hates him, hates that he has his head about him when their whole lives are on the line. 

“But now it looks like Kyle will be the head of operations for our stables.” 

“What does that mean for our house, for us?” Mitch hates how small he feels, how unimportant. These people can sign away his home, just like that. 

“Kyle wants changes, but they’re good changes.” Morgan is earnest, sure of his words. His hands grip Mitch’s with a finality. 

“We’ll stay together?” Mitch asks. He feels all of fifteen again, asking Morgan to keep him under his roof. 

“Yes, Mitchy. God, of course,” he promises, “If there was ever a chance we’d all be split apart I’d never sign over.” 

The anger still feels hot inside of him, but it’s not Morgan’s to bear. 

Mitch tries to nod, tries not to let the tears gathering in his eyes fall, but Mo pulls him forward into a hug, and Mitch can’t pretend to be unaffected, not as Morgan holds him like he’ll never let go. 

“I told you kid, it’s you and me and John right up to the end.” He keeps his hands wrapped around Mitch’s even when they finally pull apart. “Are you going to be okay?” 

Mitch pulls himself together, even scrubs the tears from his eyes, but Morgan doesnt need convincing. He squeezes their hands tighter one last time. “Do you want to hear the changes Kyle’s thinking of making?” 

Honestly, Mitch doesnt know if he does. He likes things the way they are. 

“Take a look,” Morgan prods, and hands over his iPad. 

The document that’s open is lengthy and written in legal terms, a section near the bottom crossed out. 

Mitch can only shrug, looking up for answers. “I don’t understand any of this. What does it mean?” 

The look Morgan gives him is teasing, but just barely, like he’s trying too hard to break the tension. “Well, for starters,” he says, and goes for shock value, “it means Willy and Zach can stop getting in on in the hay shed.” 

It works. Mitch nearly chokes on his own tongue, his mind doing a complete 180. The tension between them is depleted as fast as it came on. “You knew about that?” 

“I knew _too much_ about that,” Morgan amends, then grimaces, as if remembering something vividly. Mitch feels bad for enjoying his torment, but he can’t help but laugh.

“Should I even ask?” He doesnt want to hear something he cant unhear. 

“I found a used condom in hale bale last week,” Morgan says, horrified at the reminder. “I’d expect that from William- but Zach?” 

Blatantly, Mitch agrees. “Love makes him dumb,” he shrugs. 

Morgan’s grimace turns more fond than sour. He nudges Mitch. “Guess it does…and speaking of, what about you and Auston? I’m guessing the pool didn’t go too well with how you came storming over here?” 

They’re…something, Mitch thinks. He’ll have to find the balls to go back to him at some point today, but for now all he can do is bask in the knowledge that _this_ , his home and his family, isn’t going anywhere. 

“It’s nothing,” Mitch tells Mo sternly. They don’t need him prying in before they even figure things out themselves. 

But even with his denial, Morgan quirks a knowing brow. “Sure isn’t what Johnny’s been saying. Just remember that while Lou is still in control, any slip of something between you two would have you out by morning. I’d fight for you, Mitch, I would, but you signed the contract to live here. I wouldn’t have a choice.” 

Solemnly, Mitch nods. “I know, okay? I really know. Just- right now can we just eat and pretend none of this happened? Please?” 

He can’t stand Morgan’s pitying eyes so he tries to make his get away while the moment’s there. It’s not easy as his hip refuses to let him stand on his own. All that walking and the stairs he powered through in anger have left him hurting. 

For a pitiful moment, Morgan just watches him struggle, seeming to consider letting him go or plowing through his discomfort to read off more house rules. 

Eventually, Mitch’s pathetic attempts to stand win his sympathy. 

“Geez,” Morgan breathes out, “Just stop before you hurt yourself even more.” 

He’s nice enough to help Mitch all the way down the steps and to the kitchen table. He even very kindly doesnt mention Auston or Kyle through dinner, even when Johnny comes in from the fields and quirks a questioning brow at Mitch’s red eyes. 

“We’ll talk later,” Morgan promises, and dishes him up a plate of his own. 

When their eyes linger on each other, seeming to read one another’s minds, Mitch clears his throat. “So, anything new today?” 

Their family dinner grows as more and more people get done for the day. There’s yelling and arguing, and Andreas and Dermott fighting for the last roll, and Gardiner spilling his soda into Mitch’s lap, and because of and not despite of those things, it’s the best dinner Mitch has ever had. 

-

After a shot, a serious talk in the mirror, and a prayer, Mitch sets out to find Auston. 

It doesnt take long. He finds him minutes from sunset, storm clouds above them rolling into the fields like they’re setting the perfect scene for them. 

Auston’s alone, turning Nala out, her halter in his hands and the stables back in the distance. 

“Mitch?” He asks when he sees him, like he’s surprised someone was able to find him in the expanse of land. 

He clearly didn’t want to be found. “What’re you doing out here?” Mitch asks carefully, unsure if he’s unwelcome. 

Auston just shrugs. “Came to think, I guess. I got stuck watching Nala,” he nods off to where she’s nipping at another horse easily twice her size. They playfully dance around each other, bucking and galloping off into the distance only to return a second later, still at one another’s side. 

It’s so alike him and Auston, who can’t seem to stop skirting around each other in-between moments of harsh, playful intimacy. 

“We should finish our talk,” Mitch says, and when he opens his mouth the first rain drops start to land. 

“Did you talk to Morgan?” Auston asks instead. He seems unbothered by the rain, maybe even appreciative of the cool breeze it gives after such a long, hot day. 

He looks so good here, so settled; like the land itself has absorbed his anxieties. 

“Yeah, everything’s going to work out.” It’s like the release of those words comes with the release of the storm. Pounding sheets of rain hail down on them, soaking them in seconds. 

It’s the wild of the storm or maybe Nala rolling in a mud puddle without a care that makes Mitch feel a rush of warm, happy astonishment flutter through him. 

He can’t help but laugh in disbelief, throw his head back into the pelting rain, and thank God he ended up here of all places.

“I’m in love with you,” Auston says, like it’s been punched out of him, just like that. Like it’s nothing more than a simple truth that was pounding at his mouth’s door for weeks. 

_Love_ , it’s a big word that brings Mitch back to the ground, back to Auston. He grabs for his hand, pulls him into a overhang, and tells his frantic heart that it’ll finally get what it wants. 

“I like you _so_ much,” he says, and thunder strikes the ground, the sound of it reverberating through the hills around them like applause. 

“Really?” Auston asks like he can’t let himself believe it.

Mitch guesses he’ll just have to show him. 

He pulls him in and kisses him in the midst of the storm, the overhang doing nothing to keep them dry. The cold and wet air only serves to make the slide of Auston’s hands down and around his waist feel that much better. 

He can’t help but shiver with the feel of it, open his mouth, and try to remember why he ever thought his was a bad idea. 

They’re each so desperate for it, kneading into one another’s mouths and gripping at fist-fulls of soggy clothes just to pull each other closer and get a deeper taste. 

It could be minutes or hours, a year or a decade; Mitch has no clue how long they spend under that shed. 

At the second strike of lightening, closer now, Auston pulls away but refuses to go far. His lips trail up to kiss Mitch’s cheek, then forehead, like he’s something worthy of being treated so gently. 

Even with peppered kisses, the arms that pull him into Auston’s chest are strong and sure, no longer hesitant with uncertainty. 

“We can’t date yet,” Auston says, “not without us risking you losing your job.” 

The words physically pain him, but Mitch nods his agreement into Auston’s chest, wishing he could just hide there until everything works itself out. 

“Lou will sign over in just a couples weeks,” he reminds Auston, when they're both stuck thinking on it for too long. “After that, we’ll be fine.”

It feels looming and too-large to have this secret at their backs, but for now Mitch lets himself ignore the shadows over them and instead bury deeper into the seemingly sunny warmth of Auston’s chest. 

“Tomorrow, meet me here,” Auston says, “at sundown.” 

“Is this our hay shed?” Mitch asks. He hates how bubbly the thought makes him. 

“This is our hay shed,” Auston confirms, and presses one last fleeting kiss to his lips before he disappears into the sheets of rain. 

Mitch watches him go until he’s just a dark mass along the tree line. 

He can’t believe for a second that this is his life. 

Out of breath and unable to stop the swirling madness that is his mind, he falls back against the far wall, lets his legs go, and sits on the floor until the storm lets up and Marty finds him.

The vet shines a flashlight in his eyes and helps him into the same golf cart from this morning. 

It feels like an omen for the weeks to come, like they’ll circle back and around and around forever without gaining any real ground until the papers are signed and Lou is out. Even so, Mitch can’t feel anything that’s not the shaky giddiness that’s ebbing through his body. 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Marty says, and wraps a coat around him like he’s worried he’ll catch a cold. 

All Mitch can do is smile wider, still pathetically speechless. His cheeks hurt in the best way. 

“I’m just really happy,” he finally admits, and Marty lets it go with a pleased nod, letting Mitch curl up and watch the fields race by as he brings him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love hearing what you guys have to say so please feed the writer! haha 
> 
> I get a lot of ideas for this fic from two social media influencers who have a property together. No one knows if they're dating, but they're very fun to watch and learn from. If you want to laugh and enjoy some v cute 23/24 y/old guys free jumping a shetland and just generally messing around watch this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Og9P36aqhzk  
> (I think the brunette even looks a little like Auston) (Also the blond is a horse trainer and the other guy is a model and rider) (Thank me later ;) they're so much fun to watch!)
> 
>    
> P.s. Today I rode a retired race horse and found another horse that needs a second mom. I'm thinking if no one's bought her by summer I'll have to be that second parent. It seems each day I go to the stables I write another chapter of this fic so here's this haaha I have so much happiness written after this so I hope you guys have gotten your fill of angst!


	5. Chapter 5

The next week is filled with careful touches and stolen kisses. 

Mitch can barely believe he gets to just have everything he’s ever wanted, just like that. 

As he slowly gets to do more and more work and his shoulder and hip heal, his time around Auston increases. It’s as much a blessing as it is a curse, because it’s even harder to hide their budding relationship when they’re both too giddy with it to be rightfully careful. 

Time after time they prove to themselves they cant keep a lid on it. 

“Excuse me,” Auston says, as he passes Mitch in the stable block and lets his hands linger at the small of Mitch’s back, squeezing at his hip gently. 

“Let me fix your stirrups,” Mitch says during Auston’s lesson later, and puts a hand on Auston’s thigh as he pulls the belt tighter. 

Then, “Can you grab Sarge?,” Auston asks. He corners Mitch in the end stall when he comes back, leaning over his shoulder as he checks out his horse. “Looks good, doesnt he?” 

Mitch can’t answer, not as Auston’s breath tickles the back of his neck and their bodies gravitate closer and closer together until their shirts are brushing just enough to tease at a hint of more contact. 

“Okay,” Mo says finally, at the end of the day, “What’s up?” 

Auston looks like the definition of innocence, his eyes terribly wide and confused. “I don't know what you mean,” he says, but the frozen hand he has low on Mitch’s waist tells a different story. 

“Sure,” Morgan drawls, unimpressed. “Just do me a favor and stay out of the hay shed.”

They already visited it yesterday, but the itching and awkwardness of knowing it was Zach and Will’s spot ruined the mood. Their new spot is the upstairs observatory. It’s always vacant at lunch, conveniently right when Mitch normally slips away anyway.

“Meet me there tomorrow?” Auston asks, when Morgan leaves them with an over the top eyeroll. 

“Of course,” Mitch smiles, and Auston’s hand tightens on his waist as a goodbye for the day. 

 

***

 

The days from then on continue to pass as normal. They sneak make out sessions and touches in-between duties and training, but it’s mostly their looks that have changed- heated and teasing as the world around them goes on, none the wiser. 

It’s heaven until it isn't, when John catches them pressed together behind the tool shed. 

It’s a wake up call. It could’ve been anyone who rounded that corner and found them. 

“We just have to act like we’re only friends for two more weeks,” Auston says, after. "No more kissing, no more secret meet ups." 

Mitch hates it, but it’s necessary. “Just one more night,” he begs, and like he knew he would, Auston gives in. 

They meet in the pasture overhang at sundown, hearts pounding with adrenaline as they share the last kiss they’ll have for weeks. It’s raining again, not as hard as last time, but hard enough to give them cover from searching eyes. 

Once Mitch got a taste of Auston, he knew he’d never want to stop, but that doesnt mean they cant revel in their time together tonight. 

“You rode well today,” Mitch says between kisses, “Your fences jump though- you have to open your inside hip more when you go for the lead change.”

With Mitch’s mouth too busy critiquing him to kiss back, Auston gives up and instead bites his way down the open expanse of throat left vulnerably in front of him. 

“But if you gave Sarge rein before the third-”

Auston’s responding groan is not a pleasant one. He buries his head against Mitch’s chest, hitting it there lightly over and over again like he’s trying to knock Mitch’s words out of his brain. 

In the end though, the champion rider in him outweighs his personal wants. “What was wrong with my fences?” 

Mitch snorts at Auston’s pinched, obviously displeased expression, “You’re too tight. I felt like you were begging Sarge to get a good stride.” 

“Sarge was perfect,” Auston defends. 

Mitch doesnt doubt it. “He was too busy listening to you.” 

“Seems me and him have that in common,” Auston chirps, and tries to go back to biting at Mitch’s throat. 

It’s admittedly a good tactic. Mitch gives him a second more and waits expectantly until, like he predicts, Auston pulls away with an annoyed huff, clearly not able to get back into what they were doing. “My hip placement was fine,” he argues, on the defensive. 

“If you’re sure,” Mitch says, and kisses him quick before he can get a word in. But Auston only pulls away again. It’s maybe too much fun messing with his ego. 

“Why don’t you let me show you tomorrow?” Mitch asks, when it’s obvious Auston can’t let it go. 

“Fine,” he agrees, but only after some added swindling from Mitch. 

They stay wrapped together for minutes too long, risking fate as their hands and feet grow cold. 

Eventually, because one of them has to be the rational one, Auston puts some distance between them. “When I talked with Kyle, I told him I wouldn’t sign here another year if he kept the workplace relationships clause. I couldn’t keep living like that, watching you and knowing I couldn’t have you. I can't wait for this to be over, to take you on a real date.” 

It’s as sweet as it is stupid, and Mitch can’t help but find it unbearably charming. The power of one person- _his person now_ \- was enough to change everything. 

“Showboater,” Mitch chirps, but Auston’s pleased smile is enough to have him pulling him in again, for a moment not caring who could see. 

Wrapped together like this their minds go numb, unthinking of anything except the next kiss. 

When Auston tangles a hand in Mitch’s hair and guides him deeper, tongues at the seal of his lips, Mitch can’t help but break away, a smile on his face. 

“What?” Auston asks, already diving back in to kiss him again. 

“Nothing,” Mitch promises with a laugh, and kisses back. It’s funny, knowing this new side to Auston. He’s so much the same as before, kissing like he rides, in control and so sure of himself. He’s everywhere; attentive down to the breath Mitch gasps out for him to take advantage of. Their tongues tangle, their hands roam, and Mitch drinks in every ounce of him while he still can. 

It’s addictive. It’s rhythmic and soothing and terrifying all at once and Mitch feels like he could live in Auston’s arms if the world just let him. 

“Promise me something,” Auston asks, when they finally have to break for air. His breath is warm on Mitch’s lips, his eyes dark as they trace the work he’s done to Mitch’s hair and mouth.

“Anything.” Mitch can barely breathe under the weight of his gaze. He would give him the world right now if he asked. 

“I want you there when I win gold.” The cockiness is overshadowed by his earnestness. 

“Then make it happen,” Mitch says, and knows without a doubt that Auston will. 

 

***

 

They said goodbye to their relationship, put it on hold and meant it, but that doesnt stop the smiles they slip each other or the way Auston requests to have Mitch as his horses’ handler. 

It gets harder each day to keep their distance, but Mitch is steadfast under John and Morgan’s watchful eyes. 

“Is this his last ride on her until the olympics?” Mo asks Mitch while they’re watching Auston lesson on Nala. 

He shrugs. “Could be, I’m thinking they’ll switch solely to having him ride Sarge until he leaves. At least that’s what I would do.” 

Morgan just hums, disinterested, his eyes tracking the course Auston’s gearing up for. “He came to me earlier today,” he mentions casually. 

Mitch tenses. “What for? Nothing bad, I hope.” 

Quick to shake off his worry, Morgan waves off the suggestion. “He wanted to see how much a lesson with one of our trainers would cost.” 

“Who?” Mitch scoffs. “He’s not getting rid of Babs.” 

“No, he’s not,” Morgan agrees. “This would be just once a week, mostly supplemental training to adjust and improve his equitation.” 

Mitch rolls his eyes. As if anyone around here could teach Auston the way Babs has. “Okay, so who’s the wonder kid that’s going to magically do that?” 

Morgan looks at him, hard, like he’s dumb. “You,” he says, flat. 

In a way that’s maybe a little hysterical, Mitch chokes on a laugh. “Are you kidding me? You're kidding me, right?” 

“No,” Morgan answers, easy, “actually, I’ve had several riders over the last year come to me asking if you’d be available for private lessons after your clinics.” 

Under his words, Mitch’s uneasy laugh comes to an abrupt halt. “What?” 

Nodding, Morgan risks a glance at him. “I had to say no before. We didn’t have any training positions open and it’s policy that riders only receive lessons from instructors verified by our accreditation board.” 

“So why tell me now?” Mitch questions, a little breathless. 

His mind is running in circles, unable to believe that this is heading where he thinks it is. 

“I submitted a request to have you certified,” Morgan admits, and Mitch swears he stops breathing altogether. “Videos of your previous clinics were enough to grant you temporary approval until you complete the remaining steps on your own.” 

“Morgan-” Mitch doesnt have words. 

“You’re welcome,” Morgan says, the upturn of his lips ruining the straight face he’s trying so hard to keep. 

It’s nearly impossible to believe that after everything that’s happened in the past two weeks, Mitch has come out on top. 

He’s giddy with it, still unbelieving as he pulls Morgan into a hug, nearly shaking with excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says, and probably keeps saying it under his breath unknowingly. 

After a single tight squeeze, Morgan wrestles him away, aware of the eyes around them. “You earned it, Mitch. I want to see you with training status by the end of the year, okay?” 

Mitch feels like a broken bobble head in that moment, excessively nodding his thanks and agreement. 

 

***

 

When Auston gets off, Mitch is the first at his side. “I want you ready in the ring by eight am tomorrow morning,” he says in lieu of greeting. 

Even if he wanted to, Mitch is sure Auston couldn’t mask the surprise that comes over his face. “Mo said yes?” 

“Mo said yes, the board said yes. I’m going to be a trainer, Matts.” Mitch still can’t believe it himself. 

“Mitch’s that’s-” and Auston has to stop himself, half a step closer to Mitch and ready to pull him into a hug to congratulate him. 

They’re so close to having Dubas sign over, but it’s still not close enough. 

Determined to not let it ruin the moment, Mitch sticks out his hand between them, a new hard, professional set to his jaw. “I’m excited to work with you, Matthews,” he says, and Auston’s smile goes soft, all proud. He shakes Mitch’s hand, his eyes on him appraisingly. “Can’t wait, Marner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed the writer :) 
> 
> I only have one more chapter after this written but it's no where close to having an ending. If you have any suggestions of where you'd like to see this fic go, lemme know!


	6. Chapter 6

Eight am comes in half time, minutes passing like hours and chores seeming to never end. 

“Spare me,” Mitch begs, when John checks in with him. 

There’s two blocks of stalls left to clean and as many horses to turn out. To make matters worse, even with the sun still waiting to rise it’s somehow already too hot. 

“Never,” John replies flippantly, a sunny smile donning his face. He’s scarily happy in the mornings. It’s something Mitch tries to hate about him, but no matter how hard he tries his annoyance usually fades into fondness for that same sunny disposition by lunch. 

 

***

 

“Hey stranger.” 

Despite the familiarity of the voice, it’s suddenness spooks Mitch, who thought he was alone in the tack room. 

“What the hell,” he swears, turning on Auston with a scowl. It’s too early for this shit. 

“Shhh,” Auston soothes him teasingly, waving an iced Starbucks coffee in front of his face as a peace offering. 

It’s worth it’s weight in gold. 

“You’re the best,” Mitch groans, and makes grabbing hands at the coffee expectantly. 

He’s not ready for Auston to pull it just out of reach, his smile sickeningly sweet as he lures Mitch in closer and closer. 

They’re in the Matthews’ block’s private tack room, so Mitch obliges one grudging step at a time until they’re sharing breath. Any closer and there’ll be no question what’s going on between them. 

“I’m not taking another step” Mitch warns, just a foot away. 

His forfeit doesnt seem to bother Auston. “Just wanted to see you,” he says, low, his eyes sweeping Mitch’s face, then body, checking him out. 

Mitch grabs his coffee while Auston’s distracted. “You can see me in the ring, Mr. Matthews." He walks off without a glance back. 

“I love to watch you leave,” Auston yells after him. 

If Mitch takes a look back and cocks a hip, well, there’s no one else to see it. 

 

***

 

Their lesson starts right on time, Zach leading Sarge into the ring dressed down in only a sheepskin pad that ties under in lieu of a girth. 

“Is this a joke?” Auston asks, and turns to Mitch with raised eyebrows. 

It’s cute that he thinks this’ll be easy. 

“Nope, hop on,” Mitch smiles, and offers his hand to boost him up. 

There’s a second more of hesitation from Auston, a nervous glance up at Sarge, and an unsteady nod before he steps forward and bends his knee into Mitch’s palm. 

“Gentle,” Mitch warns, and on three they get Auston on his back. 

“Walk around,” Mitch tells him, and turns to go stand in the middle of the ring. 

He cant say he’s surprised when he turns back to find Auston stuck sitting still. 

Insistent, we waves Auston off. 

All he gets back is a wide-eyed look. “No reins, no bridal, and no saddle? Not that I don’t trust you, but what the hell, man.” 

Even though Mitch is enjoying his confusion, they only have so long. “How do you ride?” 

The look he gets back is adorably annoyed. “What do you mean?” Auston asks. 

“How do you ride?” Mitch repeats. “With your body, your legs, or your hands?” 

It's cute, the way Auston’s eye brows pinch together. “All of the above?” He says, more like a question than an answer. 

Mitch shakes his head. “Remember what we talked about….in the shed?” 

“I was a little preoccupied,” Auston admits pointedly. 

Mitch remembers well. “I said,” he reminds him, “that Sarge is too busy listening to you. You need to start listening to him and realizing how much he responds to your body.” 

“This is insane,” Auston tells him, gesturing uselessly to his stripped down horse. 

Mitch doesnt give any of his hesitations a second thought. He pulls a closed loop rope over Sarge’s head and lets it hang over the horse’s chest like a metal. 

“If you don’t grab this, maybe that’ll be a collar of roses in a couple weeks,” Mitch teases. 

Despite his obvious reluctance, Auston nods. He did pay for this after all. 

They start at a walk, Mitch getting Auston to hold his hands as if he’s holding reins. 

“Circle,” he commands, after a lap, and Auston’s glare goes down right sour at having to use only his legs to turn. 

“I’m going to be sore,” he warns, like it’ll stop Mitch from coaching him. 

“Good,” Mitch smiles. “Now, give me airplane arms, kiddo.” 

The teasing jab gets another glare, but Auston listens anyway, holding his arms straight out. “Pretty sure I saw the preschool riders doing this the other day,” he quips. 

Mitch isn't deterred. 

He makes Auston pick up a trot and change directions without reins. The bitching goes on and on until he mercifully lets Auston halt. 

“I’m going to ask you to pick up a canter in a second,” he warns, and before Auston can argue again, he gets close and explains things out simply. “Your halt is going to come from your body not your hands, since you don’t have reins. I want you to do everything you do normally for a halt, and post for the trot from the canter to let him know he’s doing what he’s supposed to before you stop. Besides that, if you really feel like you have to, grab the neck rope and pull. Sarge won’t do anything spooky, okay?” 

It takes a second, but Auston nods, trusting him. 

“Just listen to him and he’ll listen to you,” Mitch promises. 

When Auston pulls it off, perfect down to his leg placement, Mitch can’t help but hide his pleased smile as turns his back and barks out his next round of commands. “We’re going to do strides next,” he says, and this time, Auston doesn't even think to hesitate. 

By the end of the lesson, he's circling at a canter with no reins. 

 

***

 

Two days later, Babcock pulls Mitch aside, a disbelieving smile on his face. “His equation is looking sharp,” he praises, and Mitch can only try to hold down his smile for a more professional nod of agreement. 

“Whatever you’re doing with him, keep it up,” Babs says, and he’s gone as fast as he came, probably already off to his next lesson. 

 

***

 

By the end of the week Mitch has taught one more lesson, schooled four horses, and went on a hack. He’s tried to ignore talk about the upcoming Derby, but it’s hard as riders and owners alike are talking all about their plans. 

“Come to the Cove,” Auston begs. He’s lounging in the tack room on a Friday night, watching Mitch and Zach condition saddles. 

“I don’t think I even own clothes fancy enough for that place,” Mitch snorts. He strokes harder at the stirrup leathers he’s cleaning. There’s a rough looking spot that he swears he’s been working at for minutes now. His arms might never recover. 

“Little harder,” Auston tells him teasingly, his eyes raking down him in a matter that’s hardly appropriate. 

Mitch throws his cloth at him. 

“I heard the Cove’s going to be insane though,” Zach says. 

Guiltily, Mitch offers him a smile. He forgot he was with them. 

“What rooftop bar won’t be insane on Derby day around here?” Auston counters, and throws Mitch back his towel so he can get back to the work he's supposed to be doing. 

“Doesnt matter if I have no clothes,” Mitch reminds him. 

Auston just shakes his head, like it’s not a problem. “Wear those black skinny jeans you have and I’ll let you borrow Yeezys and this stupid hipster button up that’s too tight for me. You’ll love it.” 

As tempting as that is- “Everyone higher up is going to the Cove. It wouldn’t be smart.” 

He hates the way Auston’s carefree, relaxed attitude goes tense. “Yeah, no, of course,” he fixes, slow, like he's regretting even bringing it up, “It was stupid of me to ask anyway.” 

Mitch wants to refute everything Auston's said, but he’s muzzled by the hand they've been given.

In silence, they keep cleaning. From the corner of his eye, Mitch can see Zach sneaking a concerned glance up at him. 

He's sick of people being careful around him, of having to be careful himself, too. 

“I should get going,” Auston says then, and despite the easy way he says it, Mitch can’t deny there’s a certain awkwardness left hanging in the air. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and looks up at Auston. He doesnt move to get up, unsure how to say goodbye with Zach in the same room as them. 

“I guess I’ll see you Monday then.” Auston just gives him a short wave, like they’re good or like they’re pals. 

When the door closes behind him, Zach openly groans, his eyes on Mitch almost disbelieving. “That was _so_ uncomfortable."

Mitch knows. He could feel every unsaid word practically hanging, heavy above his head. 

With no way else to let out his anger, he wrings out his towel and goes back to cleaning. “It’s just for a bit longer.”

He doesnt know which one of them he’s trying to convince or who believes him less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed the writer :) 
> 
> Let me know what you’d like to see happen with this fic! Today me and another rider snuck into a fancy rooftop party for the derby so I’m definitly writing that for Mitch, but if anyone has a suggestion on who he should sneak in with comment below


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